Any Road
by BuryTheHatchet
Summary: I hate writing summaries, particularly when I am not really certain what is happening yet. But this is the case-based one I mentioned. It is not fully written yet, so where it goes, I do not know. Um...there is undercover work, though. And it is Tony and Ziva. And they are going to another country - because I want them to, and it makes life slightly easier for me.
1. Golden Hours

**Okay, I think I am getting back into the flow of writing. I think. It is not hardly as good as I think it should be, but I am hoping that bits of it are worth reading, at least.**

 **Can I say right now, though, that I have only written three chapters and I have no idea where this is going, so do not be expecting miracles? I do not know how much TIVA there will actually be, although there should be enough to tide you over, and I do not know how much case related stuff there will be, but that is what I am hoping to focus on, else this is all really pointless. Like something else I am working on, only this has more of a plot than that.**

 **I did really want to get this all written up before I uploaded it, but I think I really need some feedback, and I need to know what you want to see with it before I go to far with writing something that is not very good. There is a good chance that I will continue with it anyway because it seems to be helping me to get back into the swing of it all, but it is useful to have feedback. At this point, I have no idea for a title, either.**

 **Okay, the title will need explaining. It is from the quote "If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there" as said by the Cheshire Cat, and it is probably more about how I am feeling with this story and life in general than what is in the story itself. But then, I think it might just be like that as a story; one that has very little to do with anything.**

 **(Oh, I am adding ellipses to separate Story from Author's Note, because I have had to change to using Chrome and Chrome cannot tell the difference between bold and normal text on Fanfiction and it is really annoying me when I go back and check things in my fictions when I can barely tell the difference between what I wrote as an Author's Note and what is the actual story.**

 **...**

1\. Golden Hours ~ Brian Eno

Tony stretched and groaned, rolling his neck and leaning back in his chair as he surveyed the squad room. Ziva was jamming the keys of her keyboard and McGee was continuously yawning. Gibbs sat at his desk, coffee in hand, reading through the report that Ducky had sent up on their latest closed case. "Gibbs." Four heads turned lazily up to the catwalk to see the Director stood by the railing, a serious expression covering his face. Gibbs checked his watch before walking leisurely over to the stairs, not seeing the need to rush after a long week of a difficult case.

"Leon."

"Gibbs, do you think your team can pick themselves up and get back onto another one?" The greying man raised his eyebrows and looked down at his three agents. McGee's head was beginning to lull and even David and DiNozzo were too exhausted to be winding one another up.

The director sighed. "It's not ideal, I know, but Agent Donovan's team were working a case and they've all gone down with this flu thing that's going 'round. This is a big case, Gibbs, and we've got agents dropping like flies. I need your team."

"How big's big, Director?"

"This guy's killed four navy personnel and one civilian that we know of already in the DC area. We have a suspect, but only circumstantial evidence – any good attorney could tear our case to shreds. Hell, even a bad attorney could damage it enough to get a not-guilty verdict in court." Leon looked down. "Donovan's team were preparing for an undercover op."

"How deep?"

"Deep enough that rigorous background checks would not throw up anything suspicious, not so deep that they would not still be able to be in contact." He bit his lip. "Our killer's booked on a Delta flight to Durham Tees Valley International near York, England, in a week. His mother runs an Inn somewhere in the North York Moors. There is a room booked there already for two agents posing as a couple visiting the area in search of a permanent residence. We are already in contact with the North Yorkshire Police and they have an officer ready to go undercover as an estate agent, to liaise between NCIS and the North Yorkshire Police. It's all set, all we need is a young couple experienced in undercover work."

Gibbs groaned internally, silently looking down at Tony and Ziva as they chatted quietly. The pair had been growing closer again and he was hesitant to partner them up too frequently. Yes, they had both grown up a lot in the past year, but they were also still them, and the gentle flirting that was returning often grew serious, murmured conversations and secretive glances shared between the two suggesting that the crescendo he feared was getting closer. He did not want them to hurt each other, or, more importantly, the team. They had been through a lot to stick together, and he did not want anything to ruin that. He had finally trained three competent agents who worked well together and had a higher success rate than any other team in the agency, and he did not want his two best yet most irresponsible and passionate agents to ruin that. Vance could see what he was thinking and shook his head.

"McGee's not got the experience that David and DiNozzo have, and he does not work as well with Ziva as DiNozzo does, and…" He hesitated, turning away from Gibbs' hardening glare and took on a more professional tone. "Probationary Agent David has only recently been brought back from what was a difficult time for her, we still do not know the extent and depth to which her scars go, we are still not one hundred percent certain that there have been no…side-effects of her time in the desert – PTSD – and if there is, we do not know what triggers there might be." He fell silent as an agent walked past with a tissue clutched to their nose and a stack of papers in their free arm. "McGee is a strong agent, but I am not certain he has the…physical strength to cope with David if there is a problem. I am also not certain he has the emotional connection to Agent David that Agent DiNozzo has. They have done it before, they have maintained a cover together as a couple successfully and McGee has not."

"Well, now's an opportunity for him to learn," Gibbs said gruffly, trying not to admit that, for all his faults and despite the fact that Gibbs did not like it, what Leon was saying was true, and made sense.

"Gibbs…"

"He'll never learn if you never give him a chance. Besides, you said _young_ couple, I wouldn't exactly call DiNozzo young."

"He's younger than you or I." Gibbs' resistance was getting on his nerves. "They fly out from Dulles to JFK international Tuesday afternoon, then spend the night in New York before an American Airlines flight from JFK to London, Heathrow – flight time six hours and fifty minutes – then the underground from Heathrow to King's Cross Train Station, then an eight hour train journey to Scarborough and a taxi the rest of the way."

Gibbs stared blankly. "Does it have to be that complicated?"

"It was planned like that so they do not bump into our suspect before they reach the inn. He should have had a day to settle in with his mother."

"How certain are you that it is him, Leon?"

"I'm spending thousands of dollars of agency money just getting two Agents over there. I'm certain, Gibbs."

"I don't like them being in other countries, Leon. Splitting the team up is never a good idea. They work best here."

"Gibbs, we have no other option. We have profiles and backgrounds already built for the two agents who were supposed to go, we just need to alter a couple of things so they fit David and DiNozzo." He followed Gibbs' line of sight to where he was staring at his two agents. "Do you want to tell them or should I?"

The older man snorted and shook his head. "DiNozzo doesn't like you already, telling him he's got to work on another big case straight after the last one probably won't make him like you anymore."

"Gibbs?"

"Yeah?"

"Why doesn't he like me?"

Gibbs paused, his eye twitching slightly as he thought about it. Finally, he sighed, landing on the answer. "He doesn't like the power and authority that chair gives you." He nodded to the director's office. "That, and he doesn't understand you. Doesn't understand why you do what you do. But then, I don't think any of us do, really."

* * *

"I bet it's 'cause he threatened that suspect last week. No, I think…he's behind me, isn't he?" Ziva smirked as Tony turned around. "How long have you been there, Boss?"

"Elevator. Now." The younger man was about to protest when Gibbs turned his gaze to Ziva. "You too."

"But Gibbs, I did not say anything…" Her protests fell on deaf ears as he walked to his private conference room. "What did you do?" She hissed at Tony, elbowing him in the gut for good measure.

"Nothing, I swear."

"Then why is he angry with us?!"

"I'm not angry with you, Ziva," Gibbs said, as calmly as he ever spoke to them, whilst he stepped into the elevator and flipped the switch once the carriage had jolted to life.

"You're not? Then why are we in here?"

"The director wants you two undercover." There was a tired sigh from Ziva and a discontented growl from Tony. "In England."

" _England?_ I've got tickets to go see the game on Saturday! We're supposed to have the weekend off!"

"You can still see the game, DiNozzo."

"It's not the same on a screen, Boss." He grumbled, scuffing the toe of his polished shoe on the carpet.

"You don't fly out until Tuesday. You've got the weekend to prepare. Go home, the pair of you. Your IDs will be done by tomorrow evening, I'll get McGee to drop them off with the files and your travel details. Read up on the case, get to know your backgrounds, pack - you get one hold suitcase between the two of you and carry on luggage each."

"How long are we going for, Gibbs?" Ziva asked. She had hoped it would just be a couple of days, but hold luggage meant longer.

"Don't know. You're to observe and befriend the suspect. We don't know if he'll kill again, or if he'll give some information, but you'll be liaising with the British police. They'll have an officer undercover posing as your estate agent trying to find a place for you to live over there." Ziva nodded as Tony tried to conceal a yawn. "Go home and get some sleep. You're no use dead on your feet."

"Thank you, Boss."

"Gibbs." Ziva nodded in acknowledgement as she and Tony stepped off the elevator and walked in synchronisation to collect their bags and coats.

"I'll see you both on Tuesday for final preparations. Abby will want to say goodbye."

"Sure thing, Boss."

 **...**

 **The chapter titles are going to be songs by British musicians because I cannot be bothered to be creative with that.**

 **I have actually had to make the train part of the journey that they have, from King's Cross to Scarborough years ago, including transport from Scarborough station, as well as getting the bus and train from where I live to King's Cross, which takes about an hour and a half to two hours, if traffic is good and you get one of the fast trains, neither of which I managed. And then I had to the return journey a day later. I spent 25 out of 36 hours on trains and buses that weekend, and it was my first time properly being away from home without anyone with me. Not my first time taking the train on my own, but it was the first time I had to do change-overs ever, and my first time booking into a hotel on my own, too. I loved it and still do love travelling around the country by train. Train and car are my favourite forms of transportation; I do not like buses that much, really do not like boat and I really hate flying, but I love taking the train and I love sitting in the driver's seat of a car.**

 **For my reference: 54th NCIS fic.**


	2. I'm Only Sleeping

**There seems to have been a fairly positive reaction to this, so I will upload chapter two. I have chapter three written, and chapter four is coming along, although I am struggling slightly with the last part of it. I have chapter five planned out, and an idea for chapter six.**

 **I am going to try and use each musician/band/artist only once, but there are only a finite number of British Musicians. I do have a list of some of my favourite songs that I want to use that I think will fit with the story and the chapters, though.**

 **I have no idea if I actually like this chapter. I do not think it flows too well.**

 **...**

2\. I'm Only Sleeping ~ The Beatles

"Have you seen our flight schedule?!" Tony snapped as soon as the door swung open. Ziva rolled her eyes, stepping back to allow him in.

"Hello, Tony. How are you? Yes, it is nice to see you, too." She muttered sarcastically as she folded herself into a leather armchair.

He huffed, still standing in the doorway. "Yeah, sorry. How are you?"

"I could be better. I have only just caught up on sleep from last week. How was your game?"

"We lost." He shrugged, slouching his way over to her sofa and sprawling out. "Nice place. Smaller than the last one."

"It is sufficient for what I need." She was not going to mention that she could barely afford the tiny apartment – it would make him think that she needed help, and she refused to accept help, even from him.

"It's, uh, cosy." He tugged a blanket off the back of the couch, covering as much of himself as he could as he settled further into the softness of the cushions and closed his eyes.

"It is a lot cheaper to heat than the last place."

"That will have something to do with the fact you seem to have stopped heating the place to the average temperature of the Sahara Desert." He said offhandedly before freezing when he repeated his words to himself. "Sorry, that was…I didn't think."

"Do you ever?" She chuckled, seemingly fine with the reminder of her time in the desert. Of course, he knew how convincing Ziva could be at lying, particularly when he could not see her. He cracked an eye open and studied her carefully. She was picking at a thread on her sweater – it was good to see that, whilst at work, her fashion sense had changed, become more feminine as of late, she still wore the knitted sweaters that he loved seeing her in when she was at home. Her hand shook slightly and there was a tension in her face that only someone who knew her as well as he did would be able to detect.

"Ziva…"

She changed the subject completely, her persona rapidly becoming that of the organised, prepared Ziva who was ready for anything, excluding perhaps airport security. "The flight schedule is not that bad, Tony. We are in the air for a total of eight and a half hours, maximum. The train journey will be the worst, eight hours with two quick change-overs. The second of our three trains comes hourly, so we need everything to be running on time, and we need to be quick and efficient because we do not want to miss that."

"Ugh, eight hours on a train? That's like…" he counted on his fingers "a third of a day!"

"I have had much longer journeys, Tony. You will survive. But please, for both of our sakes, pack something to entertain yourself. I do not care whether it is the latest GSM or the entire Bond collection and a portable DVD player, just please, please, please do not sit moaning at me for the 16 hours of combined air and train time that you are bored. Okay?"

"Mhmm." He laid his head back; petulantly sulking over the fact she insinuated that he would not be able to occupy himself for 16 hours. She was right, of course – he could barely last ten minutes without fidgeting and complaining – but that did not mean she should call him out on it. He would have to prove her wrong.

"Are you more-or-less packed?"

"Nah, I'll do it on Monday. Besides, I need you to do your half of the hold luggage before I can even start anyway." He yawned and stretched out, flexing his feet as they stuck in the air over the edge of the couch, in arm's reach of Ziva in her armchair. She glanced at his socked feet, resisting the overwhelming urge to tickle them – something he would do to her when they were around one another's apartments during Gibbs' retirement. He would laugh, joke that her ticklish feet were her Achilles' heels and she would argue that she had never once come across an interrogator who used tickling as a tactic. Her face fell with her mood as she contemplated interrogations and her head began to feel heavy with the weight of the thoughts circling her mind. "Earth to Ziva? Miss David, are you there?"

"Hm?"

Tony looked at her with badly masked concern. "You zoned out. Maybe you should get some more rest."

"I am fine, Tony. Really. I have done all of my packing, so you can take the main suitcase to pack."

He marvelled at her ability to jump right back into a conversation after ten minutes of daydreaming for a moment before nodding. "You're done packing already?"

"Mmhm. I travel light. My clothes all compact down easily into a small backpack." She shrugged. "I only have a jumper, a pair of jeans, a towel and a wash kit in the main suitcase."

"Oh. Huh. So, uh, how much are you taking?" He was going to have to seriously rethink what he was going to take if he was going to outdo her on the packing side of things.

"Four changes of clothes, and the clothes that I will be wearing."

Who was he kidding? He could never beat Ziva at something she was so good at. It would be as hard as beating her in a knife throwing competition. Almost as hard, anyway. "Right. And, uh, what sort of clothes?"

"What I usually wear. Practical clothes."

"So…suits are out of the question? Because suits make up eighty percent of my wardrobe, and the rest isn't really stuff I wear anywhere but home or games. I mean, I have a couple of pairs of jeans, but we're always at work, so…" He was rambling, and he hated himself for what he was about to ask. "You don't think that maybe, if you have the time, you could, uh, help me pack?"

He winced when Ziva laughed. Then she fell silent. "You are serious? Tony, you are a grown man, you can pack your own bags." She sighed heavily as his face fell. "But, I will offer advice and company as you pack them."

He smiled. "Thanks, Ziva. Hey, do you mind if I just have a quick nap here? I'm shattered."

"Go ahead." She said softly from where she sat, a gentle smile touching her lips as he immediately dozed off, harsh snores detracting from his peaceful appearance.

* * *

Lasagne. That is what he could smell. Really, really good lasagne. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed, adjusting the position of his head to identify where it was coming from. Somewhere in front of him. And other smells began to fill his nose, too. Smells like patchouli and jasmine from a perfume he recognised so well but could not, in his sleep-addled mind, place, and lavender, and spices – so many wonderful spices – and it smelt of home, maybe not his home, but it had the definite smell of _home_. And then, once his brain had pieced all the scents together, he sat bolt upright. Because the puzzle that the pieces made was Ziva, leaning against the doorframe in a hoody and jogging bottoms, her arms folded across her chest and a smile on her face.

"Good nap, Sleeping Beauty?"

"Uh, yeah." He blinked. She was still there when he opened his eyes again. He looked around the unfamiliar room. A purple candle was burning on top of the upright piano that certainly was not the one that had belonged to her when they used to spend evenings and weekends together. That would explain the lavender smell – he remembered the cupboard stockpiled with lavender candles in her old apartment.

"Good. Dinner is almost ready."

"Dinner?"

"Yes, Dinner. It is 1800hrs. You have slept since 1400hrs."

"Uh, right." He nodded, rubbing his eyes and staring as she disappeared off into the kitchen. He shook his head, trying to clear the encroaching fuzziness before he stood up and followed her. He stood right behind her, closer than necessary, and inhaled deeply through his nose, welcoming the delicate notes of patchouli and jasmine that danced with his unidentifiable _home_ scent – the one that, for as long as he could remember, or at least for the past five years – he had associated with home. Whenever he was away from the office, or out of the country, the months that he was on the dreaded floating cities, it was the warm, inviting scent that he yearned for most. It was the smell of her.

She looked over her shoulder at him quizzically, eyebrows raised in a skewwhiff, slanted manner, distantly related to a smirk. "Was I good?"

"Uh…what?"

"In your dream?" She asked innocently, turning back to laying the table. "You seemed to be saying my name an awful lot, and I am pretty certain that I am the only Ziva you know."

"Maybe I do know another Ziva. It's not _that_ much of an uncommon name."

"Even in Israel, it is fairly uncommon, Tony." She smirked. "Besides, I would feel betrayed if you were calling another Ziva 'Sweetcheeks'." She laughed as she rounded the table to lay the second place, allowing her to see the sickly pallor that accompanied the sheen of sweat as he gulped.

"And, uh, what exactly did I say in my dream?" He tried to think back to dreams that he had had in the past and compare them to any fragments of what he could remember from his latest dream. Sadly, most of them had involved Ziva in some way or another in the past few years, and he had to hope that it was one of the less…graphic ones that he had been having on her couch. He shifted uncomfortably at the though, cringing slightly.

"Well, there was nothing overly distinct. Just my name. A lot. The occasional 'Sweetcheeks' and a lot of affirming noises."

"Ziva, I'm, I, it…" he had no idea where to start, "it won't, I, there…"

"Do not worry, Tony. It happens to the best of us." She shrugged, unable to keep the decidedly smug grin off her face.

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

She chuckled a low chuckle. "I would not count on it."


	3. Young Americans

**I think I want them to get to England in the next chapter. Maybe the chapter after. I am going to subject them to some good old British weather, i.e. rain. Rain, rain, and a little more rain.**

 **They are going to be a little snappy in this chapter, just because that is the mood that I am in, and it is how I am when I am travelling with others. Trust me, if my brother and I go anywhere together, we usually last about ten minutes before we are not talking to each other. Although I would say that we are a lot closer than a lot of siblings that I know – we talk more and share our problems more - travelling is just difficult because he gets bored and I panic that I have left something behind constantly.**

 **…**

3\. Young Americans ~ David Bowie

"Remember what I said last night?"

"I remember."

"And you have to promise me that you'll come home safe." Abby's arms were wrapped tightly around Ziva's neck, her face buried into the mint green blouse Ziva had, mistakenly, chosen to wear.

"I promise, Abby, but, uh, is your makeup waterproof?"

"Huh? Oh. Sorry." She stepped back, looking at the black mascara stains on Ziva's shoulder.

"It is fine, we have enough time for me to go home and change, so long as you do not stain Tony's shirt too." She smiled and Abby giggled slightly before being picked up by Tony and spun around. She watched her friends for a moment before turning to McGee. "Buy the girl some waterproof mascara whilst we are gone, McGee. I am not sure how many more blouses I can go through on occasions like this."

He smiled. "Don't do anything stupid, okay, because I'm not sure how many more times she'll survive losing you. And I know that Tony won't survive losing you even once more." Tim sighed, giving her a quick hug.

She moved on to Ducky, who tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear before pulling her into a warm embrace. "Now, if you get time I really do advise going to see-"

"Ducky, we are going there to work, not to play. Sightseeing is not on our agenda." She smiled, kissing his cheek. "We will be back before you know it." She turned to Gibbs, her last port of call when it came to their goodbyes. She lowered her voice, murmuring into his ear as he hugged her. "If anything happens, if anything goes wrong, look after them for me. Make them move on. Make yourself move on. Do not mourn for too long. And if Tony comes back without me, please do not let him do anything he would regret. Or anything that will get himself killed."

"Nothing's gonna go wrong. You're both gonna come back and Abby's gonna be so happy she'll cry through four more of your blouses and she'll take us all out for drinks to celebrate. Besides, you're not a full agent yet, you have to come back." He kissed her forehead. "Just, stay safe. Keep him safe." He reached into his pocket as she pulled away and placed a black ring box in her hand.

"I think this is my cue." Tony cut in, snatching the box from Ziva's palm and popping it open. He took out the small, elegant ring and took her hand, ignoring her protests as he unfurled her fingers from the tight fist she had made. "Marry me, Ziva?"

 _Yes._ "No."

"Tough luck, Sweetcheeks. You have to." He grinned, slipping the cold metal into position on her finger and kissing her cheek. Gibbs smacked the back of his head and he grimaced, turning to his boss. "I'm just getting into character, Boss. I'm madly in love with this woman."

"No, you are in love with Leila Asael." Gibbs growled, a challenging look in his eye as he dared Tony to correct him.

"Well, with that ring on her finger, she is Leila Asael, and I'm Liam Ward, and since we don't actually work here, and we don't know you people, we are going to have to leave. Besides, we have a flight to catch." He slung his backpack over his shoulder and saluted. "Goodbye, my friends! Hello, England!"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Wish me luck."

"Remember rule 12. You might be undercover, but I don't want any funny business. You're still agents, and you still work for me."

"No, Boss. She works for a florist in New York and I work in a boring nine to five job selling pencil pots and stapler refills to bored office workers." Tony grinned, darting out of Gibbs' reach and tugging Ziva over to the elevators.

The others watched as they boarded and Gibbs ran a hand through his hair as he turned to Ducky. "Rule 12's out the window, isn't it?"

* * *

"Can we just stop here? Thanks." Ziva smiled to the taxi driver as she hopped out and jogged up to her apartment building.

"She just needs to change her top, that's all." Tony said, staying sat in the back seat. "Don't worry, she's a quick changer." He yawned and lay his head on the cold glass of the window, thinking about his upcoming week. Why did it have to be Ziva that he was engaged to? Why could they not find some other agent? A nice blond one, with large…assets. One that despises him because he is agent DiNozzo, serial womaniser, not because he is Tony, who sits at the opposite desk and distracts her all day by being childish, not because they have spent the past five years getting close and drifting apart in an almost yearly pattern. Why could it not have been one of the agents that he did not dream about, one of the agents he had not gone all the way to the desert for? One of the agents he lusted after, not lo- no. What was he thinking? He did not love her. He was insane for just thinking it. Maybe he should get the number of a psychiatrist. Or a psychologist. Psychoanalyst? Whoever it was that sent people to asylums. He never knew. He needed to be straitjacketed, though. Particularly if he was going to have to share a bed with her. Maybe the inn would put them in separate rooms? They were more reserved in England, right? An unmarried couple would never be in the same room, would they? Maybe a twin room? But never the same bed. No, he would be fine. Worst-case scenario, they would have a twin room. But they were staying in New York for the night. New York would not be so reserved. New York would expect a young, engaged couple to share a room, and a bed. Oh, he was going to die…

"Liam. Liam, we are at the airport." Ziva leant over him, the light material of her blood-red blouse tickling his cheek as her hand sat on the side of his head, protecting it from banging on the window. The patchouli and jasmine clung to the fabric and he inhaled sharply as the sleeve swept past his nose.

"Huh? Wha-"

"We are at the airport. You slept through the taxi ride." Ziva smiled. "Come on, we are going to miss our flight." He stared blankly at her. "We are going to New York."

"Oh, yeah. Right." He rolled his neck and opened the door of the taxi, tumbling out and running to grab their bags from the boot. He dropped their suitcase on the ground and tossed Ziva her backpack, shouldering his own and slamming the lid.

"I paid him. Do you want to go check the bag in whilst I start with security."

He was about to say that they should go together when he realised how long security always took her. "Sounds like a good idea. I'll meet you the other side of security?"

"Okay." She went to kiss his cheek just as he turned to look at her, both their eyes going wide when their lips met. She pulled back as quickly as possible without looking as suspicious as they already did. "Sorry, I…"

"Hey, we're engaged. It's sort of what couples do." He smiled softly. "I'll, uh, I'll go do the…" He pointed to the suitcase and she nodded, hesitating a moment before heading over to security.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid! What did you go and kiss him for?" She murmured to herself, slapping her forehead with the heel of her hand as she stood in the queue for security. A couple with a young child stared at her and when she realised she stopped mumbling unintelligible words and smiled. "Hi." They turned away, muttering quietly between themselves. "I am not insane, you know."

"Okay." The man said, a hint of fear tingeing the corners of his eyes.

"I am not, I just, it has not been a good day, and I do not think it is going to get much better any time soon, and I…"

"It's okay, I don't like flying, either." He tried to smile before turning back to his family.

"Oh, no, I like flying, but I am just having a bad day, and I really do not want to have to get on the plane, you see, and I…" she had no idea why she kept talking to them. She was not that nervous about spending an indefinite amount of time in confined spaces with Tony over then next few days. Was she?

* * *

"You know, that would have gone smoother if you had not argued over the length of your knife."

"He said it was longer than three inches. It is not. Besides, Vance said he cleared it with the airlines."

"No, he said he cleared taking your knives in the main case since we cannot take our guns." Tony said calmly as they sat at the departure gate.

"Stupid UK regulations." She muttered to him. "He should not have confiscated my knife."

"He was doing his job, Ziva. American Airlines do not allow blades of any length in carry-on and hand luggage."

"British Airways do."

"So you told everyone."

"El Al are very relaxed on the subject."

"I know."

"And you know as well as I do that flying Space-Available flights means that they do not care at all."

"Yes, well, as a florist I am afraid you are not military personnel, nor are you a government agent, and therefore you do not have the luxury of flying in the jumpseat of a C-130 with turbulence." He hissed, standing up. "I am going to look in the bookshop."

She snorted in a rather un-lady-like fashion. "You? The bookshop?"

"I read."

"Only if there are naked women on every other page."

"Actually, I prefer the ones with naked women on every page." He shook his head as he walked away, amazed that after only twenty minutes of each other they were losing patience. He did not know, as he walked around the airport bookshop, why he said that was where he was going. Probably because it was the one that he had noticed on their way to the departure lounge, with the big, bright stand of colouring books outside.

He brushed his fingers along the spines and covers – to say that he was not an avid reader was possibly an understatement, and he groaned when he felt the ridges of lettering of the only book he had read since leaving college underneath the pads of his index finger. Deep Six sat proudly in its red and white dust cover, under a sign that proclaimed it to be one of the best crime thrillers of the past decade. He snorted. The only thing thrilling about it was that Ziva had not killed him yet. Why did people read crime novels anyway; those who do not have to deal with death on a daily basis should relish in that, and those who do should not want more of it when they go home and read.

He spotted a book sporting the Union Flag and he went over, studying the cover of '101 things to know when going to the UK'. He flicked through and, upon finding the pages dull and uninteresting, replaced it and turned to the next book on the shelf, a brightly coloured book claiming to be the '10,000 best baby names'. He snorted, betting a month's salary that it did not have his favourite name included. He flicked to the back, finding the Z section lacking somewhat, its major flaw being that there were no four-letter names starting with a Z, ending with an A, and containing an I and a V in the middle. Z.I.V.A. ZIVA. Zee-vah. Why would you not want to call your child Ziva? It sounds nice, it looks nice, and she is a truly wonderful person, so- wait, when did it become about her? Other than the fact that you are searching in a baby name book for her name, but…

He flicked forwards in the hope that finding other names would distract him enough from the thought of Ziva sat, twiddling her thumbs and contemplating his demise in the departure lounge. L. L was safe. He knew nobody with a name beginning with L.

L.J. Tibbs. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He did know somebody with a name beginning with L. What does Leroy mean? Origin – French, meaning – 'the king'. He snorted. Figures.

Leila. It was only a few lines up. And on the other page. Origin – Hebrew, Arabic, meaning – 'night'. He liked the name, Leila. Not as much as Ziva, but Leila flowed, it had a soft, lilting sound.

What compelled him to buy the book of baby names, he did not know, but he continued to search through it as he walked back to find Ziva, discovering the meanings of his friend's and family's names. Donald: origin – Scottish, meaning – 'great chief', 'world-ruler'. Timothy: origin – Greek, meaning – 'Honouring God', 'Honoured by God'.

Ziva choked on the gulp of water she had taken when he sat down and she saw what he was reading. "What on earth are you doing with that?"

"It's interesting." He shrugged. "Did you know that Leila means 'night'?"

"Yes. It is Hebrew. Now, why are you looking at a book of baby names?" She growled.

"I told you, it's interesting."

"People will think I am pregnant."

"You might be – we are engaged, after all, and I am not so old-fashioned as to make us wait for our wedding night." He grinned, his eyes flicking down her body to her stomach before returning to her glare. "I mean, have you checked lately?"

She stared at him incredulously. " _Have I checked lately?!_ What sort of a question is that? Do you even know how a woman's body works?"

"Well, I know how it works for what I want." He shrugged, winking at her.

She wrinkled her nose at him and put her lips to his ear. "At least I know that if I am pregnant, it is not yours."

"That is no way to talk to your fiancé." He grumbled. "You're mine."

"I am nobody's." She snapped, closing her eyes. How they were going to get through the next half an hour, she had no idea, let alone surviving the next week. He was being insufferable and he was lucky that the man at security had confiscated her knife. Although, she did not _need_ a knife to kill him. She had many other methods up her sleeves.

 **…**

 **I am still struggling with chapter four. It is not doing what I want it to.**


	4. Half the World Away

**Mmmm…Home-baked lemon curd tarts.**

 **Oh, dear. I went to visit my Uncle David the other day and pronounced his name Dah-veed, not Day-vid. I have a problem.**

 **Okay, I have 21 more songs in my playlist that are all possibilities for chapter titles, but I do not know if this will be 25 chapters long. Though, 25 is a very good number. I will see how it goes.**

 **…**

4\. Half the World Away ~ Oasis

She had put her earphones in as soon as she sat at the window seat they had spent the entire boarding process arguing over. For the entire flight she had stared out of the window, watching DC growing smaller and smaller until all that could be seen was clouds and blue sky. And then again on their descent, watching New York grow closer and closer, bigger and bigger.

Tony tapped her shoulder as they were collecting their bags from the overhead lockers and she turned to him, disappointed that the headphones had stopped preventing him from talking to her, seeing him holding up the audio jack. "They're not plugged in."

"It stopped us from arguing." She shrugged, feeling bad when he nodded dejectedly. "I promise that for at least half of the flight to England I will listen to whatever you say." She regretted saying it already, and he had not even opened his mouth.

He perked right back up again, grinning. "Okay." He took both of their backpacks, despite her protests, and they disembarked the plane. "This is where I grew up, you know? Long Island."

"I know." She nodded, smiling. "How does it feel to be back? You have not been to home since before college, no?"

"No. I went to Ohio State then straight to Peoria PD. No stops back home." There was a shrug as he blatantly ignored the first question.

Taking it as a sign to back off and unwilling to cause any more tension, Ziva changed the subject. "I have never been to New York."

"You've not? Huh, I'd always imagined you would have, y'know, at some point." He frowned.

"When? We never have the time to travel where we want – we go where the job takes us."

"Guess I'll have to give you the guided tour."

"We are only here until ten tomorrow morning, Tony. How long is this guided tour?"

He crumpled his face as he thought. "I'll give you the condensed version." He grinned, taking her hand into his and stumbling slightly when he realised what he had done.

She slid her fingers through his, squeezing when he tried to pull away. "We are a couple." Her breath was hot in his ear and he shivered slightly as her lips grazed his jawbone. She squeezed his fingers again and he surprised her by bringing their hands up to his mouth as they continued to walk and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

He twisted her wrist slightly to look at her nails and raised his eyes at the red lacquer. "I didn't notice these earlier." He chuckled softly, the colour of her nails matching the colour of her blouse.

"Abby painted them last night."

His interest piqued. "Slumber party?"

"No, I went to ask Abby for some advice about something and she insisted," Ziva stated.

"Oh." She used to go to him for advice on everything. Even if she was never overly direct about it. And to know that they were not good enough friends for her to go to him for advice anymore made his good mood deflate once more. He released her hand, relocating his to the pocket of his jeans.

Feeling slightly let down by the sudden rejection, she too stuffed both her hands into the pockets of her jeans, keeping her head focused on the ground at her toes as they wound their way through to the hustle and bustle of baggage claim. She took the suitcase when it passed them on the conveyer belt and batted his hand away when he reached for the handle. "I can carry it." Was all she said before they moved over to the driver holding the board 'Ward & Aseal'. "They have spelt my name wrong." She huffed.

He rolled his eyes. "You do realise that it is not your real name that they spelt wrong?" He hissed quietly, so only she could hear.

"You ordered a driver to take you to your hotel?"

"Yeah. And, uh, take the quickest route, okay. We're late for check-in already." Tony snapped, running a hand through his hair.

"No need to be so rude," Ziva muttered and he glared at her.

"Says the woman who does not trust me enough to come to her best friend for advice anymore? Oh, sorry, I forgot, we're not best friends anymore."

It felt like a slap to the face, and Ziva stood stunned for a moment, pain clear in her eyes. The driver stood between the two, pretending not to listen as he tapped his foot and checked his watch, not so discretely. "We are not best friends anymore." It was a question, but it came out as more of a quiet statement, riddled with confusion and hurt. If she had been a girl in a movie it would have been whiney and feminine and most definitely a question, but she was not, and it was more of a realisation than anything else.

Tony growled in frustration as she stormed off, before turning to the driver and sighing. "Let's go, then."

"She's a live wire, eh?"

"You should meet her father." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was pretty certain he was going to kill me over the phone when she told him about the engagement." It was not the truth, but he could just imagine Eli David's reaction.

"You are marrying her? Good luck."

"She just…drives me insane, y'know? It's like, she's so beautiful, and she doesn't even know it, and she's clever and funny, and amazing, really, really amazing, but she does these things, these stupid, stupid things, and it makes me so angry, y'know, and I end up spending more and more time at the gym than I do anywhere else, 'cause it's the only way to get rid of the anger and the tension."

"So what if she makes you angry, though, right? You love her, don't you?"

"W-" He stopped himself just in time. They were not talking about Ziva, they were talking about Leila. "Of course I do, she's…her. She's everything. I'd give my life for her." The sincerity in his voice made the driver look over.

"And you think it will come to that?"

"It already has." Tony sighed.

The older man frowned. "But you both survived?"

"I'm not so certain about that." He looked at the driver sadly as they joined Ziva at the airport exit. "It did a lot of damage."

"Then you fix it."

"I don't think I know how. I'm not that great at fixing things."

"It is not a spaceship. You do not need to be a rocket scientist to work out how to fix it."

Ziva frowned. "What are you fixing?"

"My phone. It's on the fritz again." He smiled and she huffed, dissatisfied, as she climbed into the back of the car they had been led to. Tony looked up to the sky, groaning loudly. If they were going to pull off their act of a couple in love, they were really going to have to buck their ideas up.

.Tony sighed as he emerged from the bathroom to see Ziva staring at the bed. It was not a big room they were staying in, but it seemed clean and comfortable enough, a bulk standard black and white affair, probably identical to every other room in the building. A desk, an armchair, a wardrobe and a bed. The bathroom was just as sparse. "Come on, this place is depressing. I'll give you the guided tour?"

"I am tired. I think I might just go to bed." She had said very little to him throughout their journey to the hotel and as they checked in.

"I'm afraid I can't let that happen, Ziva. This is New York and there is no way we are staying in here all night. Come on, please? I'll even see if we can find a street vendor selling falafel." That brought a small smile to her face, despite her valiant attempt to mask it with a cough. Without saying anything she removed the clothes from her backpack, placing them in a pile at the end of the bed, and picked up the keycard from the desk. Tony grinned, opening the door for her and closing it behind himself, jogging to catch up with her as she made her way down the corridor to the elevator.

* * *

It was not fair. She was supposed to be his a fiancée, which meant talking to him, not to some falafel seller. And she should have been talking in English, not Hebrew. For all he knew, she was flirting with the street vendor. He had not counted on the guy actually being Israeli, let alone coming from a town just ten miles down the road from where Ziva had grown up. He was just grateful they did not actually know each other. But the jealousy that he felt when he watched her with the man ten years younger than himself, closer to her age than he was, was overridden by the joy in seeing the genuine smile on her face as she laughed at a joke in a language he did not understand, and probably would not understand if it had been translated. But then he realised that he had not made her laugh like that in such a long time, before she went back to Israel, and the not so subtle reminder of their waning friendship had him wanting to get her away from the falafel guy promptly. "Hey, sweet cheeks, there's one last place I want to show you tonight."

"But..." she hesitated, looking between the two men. It was not that she was interested in the guy she was talking to, despite his relentless flirting, but it felt good to be wanted, especially after so long of not feeling wanted - almost a year. She certainly had not had anyone look at her the way the Israeli man was looking at her since before the summer. And there was something comforting about speaking her mother tongue. But the pleading look on Tony's face was enough to convince her that it was time to move on.

"Alright." She said her farewells and took Tony's proffered hand as he guided her over to a waiting cab, maintaining their happy-couple façade. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." He said ominously before giving the driver an address. He studied her face as she watched out the window, the lights from street lamps and house windows casting shadows across her features as dusk drew in. "Just pull over here." The driver stopped outside an old movie theatre and Tony paid him.

"I do not think they will be playing much here today," Ziva muttered as she walked over to the old, shut up building.

"It closed, ten years ago. There was a fire apparently."

"Why are we here?"

"It was the theatre my mother used to take me to. We would walk down here and she would ask me which one I wanted to see. They were all old films, they didn't show new releases." He smiled wistfully and swallowed thickly as he stared up at the pealing paint of the building. "Come on, we're not done yet." He wrapped an arm around her waist and her head whipped around, craning to see if there was anybody on the street she had not noticed. "You never know when someone will walk past." He shrugged. "And walls have eyes." They walked on, his arm around her, until they reached a large, ornate gate that stood open. "Huh, security seems to have lightened up around here."

"Where are we?"

"Patience, my dear." They walked past three large houses before stopping. "That window, top left," he pointed, "was my bedroom window when I was growing up."

"The small, dark one?"

"The very one." He smiled down at her before looking back at the building he had spent his formative years. "I presume Senior's still living here. No-one's told me otherwise. If he is, he's not home. The study light's always on if he's home." He nodded to another dark window.

"Then why are there lights on?"

"Housekeeper, maybe. He might have married again. I try not to keep track of it all. He's too much hassle to keep track of. Or maybe he sold the place. It's worth more than you or I will make in our lifetimes." He tightened his grip on her as she made a move to step towards the house.

"You will only know if you knock."

"What if I don't want to know? I want to live in blissful ignorance."

"You said it yourself, he is not home."

"I hate it when you're right. That, and I really need to pee." He grumbled as they both stepped towards the black door. The brass knocker gave a resounding crack and the door was answered within a minute by an older, frazzled looking woman. "Lucía?"

She studied his face, wrinkles creasing her cheeks and forehead as she tried to place his features. "Do promises not mean anything to you, Boy?"

Tony hesitated, taken aback by the woman's harsh tone. "I…I don't know what you mean. I think there's been a mistake…"

"I've been expecting your visit for nearly twenty years, Anthony."

"You remember?"

"How could I not? You used to hate me cleaning your room, but I know what you kept in that drawer under your bed."

"Lucía, this is my, uh, um, my…"

"Ziva." She held her hand out, checking behind her to make sure they were not being watched. "We work together."

Lucía's eyes dropped down to Tony's hand where it sat on Ziva's hip still. "You just work together?"

His hand leapt away as if burnt and he dropped his tone to that which only the two women could hear. "Ah…we are working right now."

"As police? Why are you here?"

Ziva shook her head. "We are not here as police. Can we come in?"

"Of course." Lucía smiled as she led them across the marble hallway to the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Can you still make that really good hot chocolate that you used to make?" Tony asked eagerly, his bladder momentarily forgotten.

She chuckled and looked at him. "I have not made it in years. I guess I can try. Hot chocolate for you, too, Miss Ziva?"

"It's really good. Best hot chocolate in New York."

"I would not say that…"

"No, it is. Ziva will have a hot chocolate too."

"So if you are here working, but not as police, then why are you here?" She asked as she busied herself with the drinks.

"We, uh…" He bit his lip, locking eyes with Ziva. "We are undercover. We're only stopping off in New York for tonight. We're not us at the moment." Tony shrugged.

"So you are playing make-believe like when you were a child?"

He shook his head rapidly. "I…I never…"

"You did. You would climb the trees in the garden and pretend you were on a sailing ship. You do not remember?"

"No. No, I don't remember. I do not remember that." Ziva sniggered as she watched him become defensive. "Don't believe it, Ziva, 'cause I didn't."

"You did, Anthony. Do not lie. Your mother used to dress you up as a sailor and you would pretend you were climbing the mast. I think there might be some photos too."

Ziva's face lit up. "There are photos?"

"No. Of course there are not because it didn't happen." He glared at her. He could hardly remember why he had wanted to take her there. He had wanted to show her where he was from, where he had grown up. He had seen her country, met her father – even if the circumstances were not ideal. Maybe it was his need for a little normalcy, bringing her home to meet the parents – or, in this case, the housekeeper – even if they were just colleagues. It was not something he had ever done before, not that he ever really had anyone to bring someone home to. "I need to go to the bathroom. Please, Lucía, don't get any photo albums out whilst I'm gone."

"I promise."

"It's still in the same place, he's not moved it again, has he?"

"He is never here enough to need to change it anymore." She smiled sadly, nodding in the direction of the hall. He gave a tight smile and hurried out of the room, leaving Ziva alone with the housekeeper. "He's a good boy. He might get himself into trouble at times, but he is a good boy."

"You have known him for a long time?"

Lucía chuckled as she poured hot milk into three mugs. "I have known him since the day his parents brought him home from the hospital. But in all the time I have known him, he has never brought one of his…" she paused, recalling their insistence that they merely worked together, "colleagues home before."

"Well, I am not surprised, he has never worked in New York bef…oh. You are insinuating that we are more than colleagues."

"The way you look at him…I do not believe there is not something between you." She shrugged, handing a mug of hot chocolate over and blowing across the top of her own. She had a fluctuating accent, it came and went, some phrases bringing it out more than others.

"I can assure you that there is not. He is just a friend. A good friend. I look at him the way I look at all of my friends."

The old woman raised her eyebrows incredulously. "You can tell a lot from a person's eyes."

"I know that. I am trained in reading people."

Lucía laughed. "It is not something you can be trained in. It is something you learn through experience. I guess it explains why you cannot read yourself."

"And what is it that I am not reading in myself?" Ziva asked, regretting the question almost immediately.

There was a chuckle. "You are attracted to him, yes?"

It was pointless lying, but avoiding the question, that was something she could do. "Show me one woman who is not."

Lucía conceded on that point, bowing her head in silent acknowledgement. "You care for him a lot, though. You would hate for something to happen to him."

"Of course. He is my friend. I thought he was my best friend, but I do not know so much anymore." She looked down at the bubbles of chocolate clinging to the side of her mug, remembering their arrival in the airport. The more she thought about what he had said, the angrier it made her. She would have gone to him if her problems had not concerned him in the first place. Of course, she had not wanted to discuss Tony with Abby, not that she did not trust her – well, on this she did not, really - but she had nobody else to talk to. If it had been any other man she was nervous about spending the foreseeable future with, she would have gone straight to him, even if only to see what his reaction would be – would he be jealous, supportive, encouraging? "We have not been as close as we were in quite a while. Some things happened, and it has been difficult to stand up again."

There was a pause in which Ziva knew she had gotten something wrong and she was grateful for Tony's nosey, interrupting, correcting voice to come bouncing back into the room. "Get back onto her feet. What's been difficult?" He had only caught the last five words of her statement and concern was laced throughout his tone, worried that she was having problems after the summer and she had not told him.

"Nothing."

"Is this what you were talking to Abby about?" He had vowed when he had decided to take her on a mystery tour that he would forgive and forget, it was probably just some…feminine issue – something that, as the manly-man he was, she knew he would have no idea how to deal with. But if she was struggling to get back on her feet, it had to be something to do with Somalia – what else could it be – and if it was something that she only felt comfortable talking about to Abby and a complete stranger she had never met… In his mind, he ran through all of the possibilities of what the problem could be, what happened out in the desert that she could only talk to women about, and his face blanched as he felt his blood drain away. His voice was weak when he spoke again. "You should have told me that you were having problems. I would have helped, no matter what it was. I still will help. You just should have told me."

"Tony…that is not what we are talking about." She bit her lip, not confident enough to deny that he had hit the nail on the head. He had done nothing to deserve the hell that telling him what happened to her would put him through.

"Then what…?"

"It does not matter." Ziva had expected to say it, but Lucía had beaten her to it, handing Tony a mug of hot chocolate and changing the conversation before he could argue. "Your father has been gone for two months this time." She sighed, focusing on her own drink. "He got married again, last year."

"What's this one like?"

"Clingy and all wrong for him. I think she wants his money."

"They all do." He muttered, rolling his eyes, before looking up with pity at the housekeeper. "Sorry." Ziva frowned slightly at the apology directed to the older woman and watched as she gave a sad smile and shrug.

"What can you do, Anthony?"

"Tell him. Just tell him how you feel."

"No. I have had this job since before you were born, and my mother had this job before me. My family have been working for your family since she moved here and I shall have it until the day I die." She turned to Ziva. "Did you know that the DiNozzo family have been living in this house since Anthony's Grandfather had it built in the 20s? The land itself isn't worth much, but the house would go for quite a lot if it were ever to be sold. Of course, there's more sentimental value than anything."

"Lucía grew up here," Tony said, joining in with the story he had been told as a child.

"My mother had worked for Anthony's grandfather's family before he built the house when he got married and so she moved here with him and his wife because they needed a housekeeper. She was only eighteen. At that time the family had a cook a cook and a grounds keeper and all sorts of staff. They had shared rooms upstairs."

"Everything was happy, and Lucía's mother was a really beautiful woman." Tony grinned.

"Oh, yes. Everyone employed by the DiNozzo family was good looking – they had to be in case they were seen at parties and gatherings and things." Ziva got the sense that this was a well-told story, something that was maybe recited at bedtime for a young Tony. "Anyway, there were always lots of these parties and gatherings and such like, and all the guests were socialites and wealthy young men from the banking scene. Many of the young men took a shining to my mother. There was a scandalous affair with a banker who used to be a regular guest. My mother always said it lasted for three years before anyone found out, but when everyone did find out, and it was pretty hard not to when she was expecting me, he was given an ultimatum by his family-"

"Lose the girl and the child, or lose your family!" Tony boomed, his impression making the two women laugh.

"Was his family really German?" Ziva asked as her laughter calmed.

"No, it is just the voice Anthony always gave him. Anthony used to do a lot of voices."

"He still does." Ziva smiled. "He has Jack Nicholson to a tee."

Tony grinned before going back to the story. "This banker wasn't going to lose his fortune, and ordered that Lucía's mother get rid of the baby, or he would never see her again, not telling her about the deal he had made with his father."

"My mother would never have let that happen, though. She already loved me too much, more than she had ever loved him. Fortunately, Anthony's grandmother had become friends with her over the past few years, particularly when she'd had Anthony's father, for my mother helped out a lot then, and Anthony's grandmother promised to protect my mother and me from everyone. And because his grandmother was protecting me, so was his grandfather."

"And you have been here ever since?" Ziva smiled.

"I grew up with Anthony's father. He is two years older than me. We would play together in the garden." Her voice picked up a nostalgic tone. "Are you sure you don't want to look at old photos?"

* * *

"She was lovely." Ziva said as Tony lead her down the driveway towards the street where they had a cab waiting, his hand on the small of her back.

"Yeah. She's great, really. She would help me with my homework, and teach me to sing, and talk to me when I was upset. She would look after me more than either of my parents, and she was always home, so…" He trailed off with a shrug. "She's just really great."

"I…when she was talking about your father, I had the feeling they…"

"No. She loves him, but he doesn't see her. To him, she's just always been there." Tony sighed, and both their minds drifted to the other, thinking about their own feelings in comparison. "She had to watch him get married time after time, over and over."

"It must have been hard." Her voice was taut as she struggled to think what she would do in that situation, what she would do if Tony were to announce his engagement to some blonde bombshell, younger and more worthy than herself. Her chest grew tight as she imagined it, imagined the smile that she had not put there, and her step faltered.

"You okay?"

She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yeah. I think I am just tired."

"Okay." He nodded, not entirely convinced. He continued to frown after her as she started walking away. He wondered if she was sleeping okay – she had been looking tired lately and had been less enthusiastic with their flirtatious banter than normal, or normal before the summer. But then, he could hardly blame her.

* * *

It was the thrashing that woke her, followed by the moaning – her name on his lips. Although, she conceded, it was not hard to wake her as of late. She had not slept deeply since leaving the hospital when they arrived back in America. Of course, she had not wanted to go to the hospital, denied needing it, but Ducky had insisted and Gibbs had driven her, not taking no for an answer whilst Tony watched silently from his desk.

She rolled over, staring at Tony, his crumpled face conveying unimaginable pain. He sat bolt upright as soon as her cold fingers brushed across his shoulder, staring at her with tears tracking their way down his cheeks. "Ziva? Ziva?" His breathing was heavy as she studied his face with concern.

"I am here."

"You…you died. I saw you. You were…you were dead." He slumped back, his head falling to the pillow, repeating his words over and over. "You were dead."

She reached over to flick the light on the nightstand on. "But I am not. I am here." He was shaking as he stared at her, trying to regain control of his breathing. She walked over to the mini-fridge, taking a bottle of water and handing it over to him, keeping her eyes fixed on his face the whole time. He sat up as he accepted it, rolling it in his hands without opening it.

"Thanks." He mumbled quietly, keeping his eyes averted.

Ziva sat on her side of the hotel bed, the bed that there had been a silent, mutual agreement as to which side each of them were to be sleeping on, her legs crossed and folded under herself. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." He scratched the side of his nose, putting the unopened bottle of water on the nightstand.

She pursed her lips as they sat in silence, licking her lips before deciding to speak again. "How often do they happen?" He grit his teeth, turning his head away from her and she nodded. "Often, then."

"Can we just, y'know, forget about this? Please?"

At the desperation in his voice she nodded, despite her burning desire to quiz him on his nightmares. She slipped under the covers and reached across to turn the light out, closing her eyes as she considered the fact that her partner frequently had nightmares about her death.

 **…**

 **This chapter has been so difficult to write and I do not know why. I did not enjoy writing it, either.**

 **There are so many fictions about Ziva's mental state after Somalia, how she copes with it, etc. but there is virtually nothing about Tony and how he copes with the events of ToC and that summer, and I do not think that he would have been unaffected by it.**


	5. Baker Street

**I should probably get them to England in this chapter since I did promise that I would.**

 **I did not mean for this chapter to take as long as it did, I swear, but the words were not working.**

 **…**

5\. Baker Street ~ Gerry Rafferty

The irritating blaring of the radio alarm dragged Ziva from the relative depths of her slumber. She groaned, reaching out to hit the offending article twice before knocking it to the floor, where it broke. The grateful silence that ensued was disturbed moments later by a loud, rumbling snore in her ear. It was only then that she noticed the dead weight of her partner's arm across her stomach and his leg tangled with hers, essentially pinning her to the bed as his breath ruffled her hair. At some point during the night, he had shifted over so that they shared her side of the bed, leaving his side completely empty. She was pretty certain that even couples did not usually share a pillow.

She lay staring at the ceiling of the hotel room for a while, contemplating their brief conversation in the middle of the night along with everything else that had happened over the past day of travelling as she absentmindedly grazed her fingertips up and down the arm that had been slung across her stomach.

After five minutes she gave up staying still and slipped out from under his arm, quietly unzipping her bag and removing a set of clothes before quietly walking into the bathroom and turning the shower on.

Once she had taken a long shower and brushed her teeth, she walked back into the room, smiling at the still-sleeping Tony. She took the case-file from her backpack and sat at the desk, opening the manila folder up and spreading the paperwork out across the desk as she reviewed the write-ups and reports.

* * *

"Anything good?" She would have been lying if she said that his breath in her ear had not made her jump.

"Andrew Conrad, 37, lives with his mother, Hattie Conrad, at her inn in a small village in the North York Moors. He is suspected of killing at least three people across Yorkshire, along with another five people in DC, four of whom were Navy personnel, although we do not know if that is just coincidence."

"No such thing."

"It might be." Ziva challenged, glaring over her shoulder at him before turning back to the files. "All eight victims have been strangled with a necktie before having their throats slit with a straight-razor."

"And why do we think it's him?"

"He is the only person we can find that has been in the vicinity of all the murders, in DC on business when the five DC victims were killed and at home when the three known English victims were killed."

"Motive?"

"Nothing, really. There is one odd thing…" she flicked through the pages, trying to find it, "here. He had a professor at university when he was doing his medical degree who said that he was the only student who would religiously wear a necktie. None of the other students bothered, many of them not even bothering with a button-down. But Andrew always wore a shirt and tie."

"So he's a doctor?"

"No, he dropped out of his degree two years in. He works at a medical supply firm."

"And can we talk to the prof.?"

She scanned the page before shaking her head. "Died in his sleep three weeks after going to the police."

"Suspicious?"

"Coincidence?" Tony raised his eyebrows and she shrugged. "He would have been old. Apparently, he had heard about the murders in the local paper and Andrew had come to mind because of his obsession with wearing a tie every day. Oh, he also had a thing about blood."

"It's sounding more and more like Andrew might be our guy."

"But it is all circumstantial. Vance is right, it would be easy to tear this case apart." She shook her head, checking her watch and then looking over to him as his stomach grumbled. "Breakfast?"

* * *

They sat opposite one another, Tony digging into his bacon and eggs with vigour whilst Ziva picked at her toast slightly less energetically. "You do know that nobody is going to take it away from you before you can finish?"

"Ziva, I'm hungry. I don't know if you remember, but you had falafel last night and I did not." She looked down at her plate, nudging it away with her fingers. She thought he had gone to get something else whilst she was talking to the falafel seller. He had not complained about his stomach once and so she just assumed that he had eaten. Noticing the sudden silence from her he looked up, pausing with a forkful of egg held to his lips. "If I had wanted something, I would have gotten something. Come on, we've got a long flight and airplane food is never great. At least finish the toast off."

"I am not that hungry anymore."

He sighed. "Ziva…"

"Drop it, Tony."

"No. You need to eat something before the flight."

"Will you tell me about your nightmare?"

His eyes twitched and the muscles of his jaw clenched. "I…"

"It cannot be easy, seeing women when you wake up screaming all the time." It was a low dig, she would admit, but it was all she had. And it was partially self-resentment – if she did not stop having _her_ nightmares, the small chance of any future relationship that might be somewhere in the distant future was non-existent.

"It's not been a problem." His voice was laced sarcasm.

Ziva pushed her chair out, standing up abruptly. "I am going to the gym."

"Wait, Ziva…" It was too late as she stormed off towards the lobby. He groaned, pushing his plate away and chucking his fork, still laden with egg, at it.

* * *

It was not the first time, or even the second time, that he had stared at her in a bathing suit, and every time his heart rate increased. He liked watching her swim – it was relaxing, the way she moulded herself into the water, the liquid encasing her like glass. It was one of his most vivid memories from their partnership, tailing her to the hotel, watching her glide through the inky water. At the time he had felt guiltier about imagining Kate as a schoolgirl than he had about imagining what was under the green swimsuit, but now he was not so sure. Now the guilt was seeping into his mind as he considered the blue one-piece she wore, and what might be under it.

He had watched her undress before, on stakeouts and nights spent on one another's couches, her perfectly unabashed confidence in her own body leaving her unfazed when it came to changing clothes without bothering to leave the room. Usually, he would avert his eyes, but there were times – rare times – when his curiosity would get the better of him and he would meet her eye, catch a glance of the mischievous, daring glint found there.

He cleared his throat as she surfaced in the empty pool and she spun, disrupting the surface. "Gym's on the top floor, not the basement."

"What do you want, DiNozzo?" She had just started to relax, calm herself down after the tiff with her infuriating partner. And now he had to invade her privacy, shatter the peace she had smoothed out.

"Time to go. We've got fifteen minutes until the taxi gets here to take us to the airport." He watched as she huffed, sinking down to the bottom of the pool and sitting there, letting out a stream of bubbles before pushing up to the surface and swimming to the edge, fluidly climbing out and grabbing a towel from the side. He frowned as she wrapped it around her body, taking the long way around the pool towards the changing rooms rather than walking past him. She had never been shy before, even when she was angry, and it just added to his suspicions of what went on whilst she was in the desert, added to his hatred of the men out there. She had worn a long sleeved tee and flannel pyjama bottoms the night before as she slept, too, something he had never imagined her doing. She had always worn a camisole and panties to sleep in before, or occasionally one of his oversized t-shirts. There was one time when they were on a stakeout when she had worn cotton shorts along with the camisole to be slightly more modest in front of McGee, but never had he seen her so clad in clothing to sleep, certainly when it was summer and the air-con was not the best in their hotel room.

* * *

"You wish to say something to me, yes?" She had waited until the final passenger in close proximity fell asleep before speaking with a lowered voice. She had been silent for the first three hours of their flight as he stared at her.

"Zi-Leila, what was it I said? What is it that made you mad at me?"

"I am not mad at you."

"You are."

" _Liam_ , I am not." The undertone of her voice made the message pretty clear. She was not going to break character now, not now that they were so close to their target.

He pinched the bridged of his nose and leant his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth together as he resisted the urge to scream.

* * *

"Can you please tell me what I did wrong? Just so I can apologise? It will help us maintain our cover if we can at least be civil to one another." It was at that point, as they stood together on the train platform waiting for the underground to King's Cross St Pancras station, that she realised that they had to at least talk to one another.

"I do not understand how you can still be sleeping around when you are having nightmares every night." Her brow furrowed as she considered how desperate she sounded. "And I just wish you would have told me about the nightmares. So I could have tried to help."

"You can't help." He shrugged. "You died, Ziva. I saw the reports, I heard Gibbs tell me about it. I just never wanted to lose another partner."

"It was going to happen at some point or another. Statistically." She hated herself as soon as she said it, but it was the only think her messed up head could come up with in comfort.

"Yeah. It just didn't have to be my fault!" He may have said it too loudly for the dull hum of the train station. He may have said it slightly harshly. But his message was gotten across clearly.

She jutted her lower jaw out and ground her teeth together, turning her back on him slightly as she bit back the tears that were painfully pricking the backs of her eyes.

…

 **I do not think I have actually sat down to write for so long. If I am not working I am volunteering at the local school, or helping my neighbours out, or doing the grocery shopping for the elderly man down the road from me, or doing one of the million other errands on my never-ending list. So that is partly why this has taken so long, and it is my excuse for why the next chapter is going to take so long, too.**


	6. Goodbye Blue Sky

**I will say now that I do not always think it is raining in England. I live there, it is…I was about to say that it is not raining now, but it is… and it has been for the past week. But we do have sunny days. It is not all rain like the weather is stereotyped to be. Sometimes we even have heat waves. We had a heat wave last week.**

 **This did not take as long as I thought it would. I think the next chapter might take a while, though…**

 **…**

6\. Goodbye Blue Sky ~ Pink Floyd

" _Is there no sun in this cursed country?!_ " Tony cried with a poor accent, holding his hands to the sky as rain hammered down on them.

"Should I be offended?"

"Morgan Freeman as Azeem in _Prince of Thieves_." He looked up at the dark clouds and wrinkled his nose. "I guess what they say about England's true. Perpetual rain."

"It is not always like this. Sometimes it can almost be pleasant." She muttered, pulling up her hood.

"And who are you so wise in English weather?" It was the most words that had been exchanged between the two since their argument on the platform whilst waiting for the train at Heathrow.

"I worked here for a year before NCIS, remember? In the summer it can get quite warm. Not as warm as Israel, or even DC, but after a year of rain, it feels warm."

"Ziva, it is summer."

"Their summers are shorter." She flagged down a taxi, effectively cutting the conversation short. "Hi, we need to get to this address."

The driver looked at the slip of paper she handed to him and frowned, gnawing nervously on his bottom lip. "I'll take you to the village. From there you can walk." A look was exchanged between the two federal agents, noticed by the driver. "You're not gonna get anyone taking you directly to the inn, I can tell you that now. Centre of the village is as close as you'll get. Are you sure you don't want to find a room in a Travelodge? I can get you a discount at the local Premier Inn?"

"There something we should know about this place?"

There was a moment of hesitation before the driver shook his head. "Just stay alert. Watch your back around there. Funny things happen in that place, and the inn…well…there are stories."

"Stories?" Ziva raised her eyebrows. She was not prepared to sit through half an hour of their fidgety driver telling them ghost stories.

"Just, y'know…weird feelings, like you're being watched. And people going missing. Even a couple of murders."

"Murders?"

"Yeah. Been going on for years. I remember the stories from when I was a boy. You still sure you want to stay there?"

"We will be fine." Ziva smiled, climbing into the back seat. Tony paused momentarily whilst he considered whether the operation was really worth losing their life in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere.

* * *

The sky had remained a dark grey for the whole journey and the scenery was a blur behind the rain-coated windows. The driver had tried to exchange conversation every so often, but it usually faded out to oblivion after a while, leaving the only sounds in the car to be the back and forth of the wipers and the quiet crackle of the radio. It was only when the engine stilled that they realised they had reached their destination, and they both leant forwards slightly to look out of the windscreen. It was a miserable place, a church, a row of houses and a small patch of grass with a swing-set that looked like it had seen better days. Even the grass looked dull in the absence of light and only two of the windows in the row of grey stone houses had a yellow glow emanating from them. "Well, I guess I'll love you and leave you." The driver smiled as Tony handed over a couple of notes. "Inn's past the church then down the hill slightly."

Tony nodded, stepping out into the rain and grabbing their bags from the boot before joining Ziva in front of the car. " _Hospitality in this country's as warm as the weather._ Robin Hood again."

"Why so many Robin Hood quotes?" She asked as they started making their way towards the church.

"Well, we're in England, of course!" He spread his arms, regretting it when water dribbled down the sleeve of his grey woollen coat.

"But we are not in Nottingham."

"Hey, wait up!" They both turned as the driver jogged over to them, holding an umbrella above his head. "Look, you seem like nice people. If you need anything, call this number. It's my wife's mobile, home and work numbers." He handed over the business card to Ziva, who smiled gratefully.

"I am sure we will be fine. But thank you."

The driver did not look so certain but nodded all the same. "Just…stay safe." He turned back to his car, his figure in the beam of the headlights casting long, strange shadows across the place.

"Maybe I was wrong about the hospitality…" Tony mumbled, wiping water from his face as Ziva tucked the card into her pocket. He shifted uncomfortably, partly due to the water running down his back and saturating his jeans and partly due to the uneasy feeling he was developing. "I've not got such a great feeling about this."

Ziva merely nodded, clearly also feeling unsettled. "We are being watched." She murmured, taking his hand in her own and subtly pointing to the row of houses, where a face was poking out from behind one of the curtains. With the distance and poor visibility, gender and age were impossible to decipher, but just the knowledge that they were being observed was enough to have them making a move in the direction of their inn.

When they rounded the church and were met with the sight of a valley with a lake below, Tony frowned. "Any idea where exactly it is we are supposed to be staying?"

"Down the road, I guess," Ziva said with a hint of uncertainty. It was a long way down, and the road did not have the greatest surface. Part of her hoped that it was the reason their driver had not wanted to take them directly to the hotel. She tugged the hand that she was still holding, taking a deep breath as she forged forwards if only to get out of the rain.

"What do you think he meant by the murders going on for years?" Tony asked quietly.

"Local superstition, perhaps?" She shrugged, though her demeanour was less than confident.

"You don't believe that."

"No." She shuddered, quickening her pace slightly on the slippery downhill slope. After rounding a rocky outcrop, a small, grey building came into view, in the dark light almost blending into the surroundings.

"I guess that's it." He had not noticed it at first, but when the first bolt of lightning struck the sky the flash illuminated the dull structure and reflected off of the windows. "Maybe the driver was right. Maybe we should go back and find somewhere else to stay."

"No, Liam. We are here for a reason." Her tone was soft, but the seriousness of her words had a weight that he could not deny. They had a job to do.

The ground beneath their feet was quickly becoming a slick, grey mud, and both Ziva's walking boots and Tony's Nikes were suffering, so when they reached the oak door of the inn the unsettled feeling made way for relief. "Do we just go in?"

"Dunno." Tony shrugged, pushing down on the door handle and leaning on the heavy wood, grunting when it opened easier than he expected it to.

They entered into a dimly lit bar, with two tables by the windows and three chairs at the bar. A fireplace was light at one end of the room, providing the majority of the yellow light, and an elderly man was sat on the second stool in from the far wall. "You the Yanks?"

Ziva looked hesitantly to Tony, who nodded uncertainly. "Liam. My fiancée Leila."

"Henrietta, get through here. Your Yanks 've arrived." He gave a toothy grin, displaying a wobbly graveyard of yellowing teeth.

"Y'know, 'Americans' is not much of a longer word than 'Yanks'." Tony tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, but it had never been his forte. "Besides, she's not technically American yet, therefore not a 'Yank'."

"Then what is she?"

"Israeli." Ziva smiled tautly, already uncomfortable with their living arrangements, despite only having seen the bar.

"Israeli, hey? Well, what do you know? My nephew married an Israeli girl. Pretty little thing. Jewish."

"Is there a problem with that?"

"Not at all, love."

"Arnold, are you offending people again?"

"'Course I ain't, Henrietta. What do you take me for?"

"I take you for a drunk old man." The woman behind the bar smiled. "You must be our guests for the foreseeable future."

"Liam Ward, and my fiancée Leila Asael." Tony held his hand out to shake.

"I'm Hattie. This here is old Arnold, he owns the slaughterhouse just outside of the village. Don't listen to a word he says, he doesn't like Americans."

"Now, when have I ever said that?" He objected, lifting a tankard to his lips to hide a smirk.

"Half an hour ago was only the latest time." Hattie looked over the top of her glasses at him. She was hardly elderly – Ziva guessed her to be in her mid-fifties – but there was an aspect of her that made her seem older than she was, like the haggard, tired face, whilst there were other youthful qualities, such as the sparkle in her eyes and the softness of her smile. She turned back to Tony and Ziva, her eyes finally roaming their sopping forms. "My, you're soaked to the bone. You go and sit by the fire whilst I bring you some towels, then I'll show you to your room." Both agents looked down to their muddy shoes and she chuckled. "Oh, don't worry about those. Andrew will be back any minute with Wellington traipsing mud throughout the entire place. The floor will wash."

She walked back through the door she had appeared through and they shuffled their way over to the fire, relishing in the heat emanating from it. Tony abandoned the suitcase by the door, and their joined hands finally dropped, so they could each work on warming up. Arnold opened his mouth to speak just as the door swung open again, the heavy pounding of rain increasing in volume as a muddy Border Collie ran in, trotting over to the fire and sitting between Tony and Ziva, giving a single bark before settling down. "Wellington." A harsh command came from the entrance and the dog turned around, one ear drooping.

"Oh leave him, Andrew." Arnold sighed. "He needs to dry off."

Andrew gave a huff as he moved out of the darkness, revealing his tall, broad stature. He dropped a pile of firewood by the door and nodded cautiously to the two guests. "You can sit on the chairs, you know."

"Nah, I think the floor is more comfortable in the wet clothes." Tony smiled and nodded. "Liam."

"Andrew."

"Ah, Andrew, you've met our guests," Hattie said, returning with an armful of towels, passing three to each agent. "Now, dry off."

"You said earlier that you would show us to our room, singular…" He trailed off as he rubbed his hair dry. "I was only wondering, 'cause I figured there would be two…y'know, we're not married yet and…"

The three locals laughed heartily. "We're not prudes. We might be more reserved, but we're not prudes. We were all young once too." The older woman smiled. "But you need to warm up before you go up there. You'll freeze to death if you don't make certain that hair is dry." She nodded to Ziva's tangled mane, to which she reached up, tugging fingers through the knots. "Can I get either of you something to drink?" They both shook their heads and she nodded. "Okay then. Well, if you need anything, I'll either be in here or in the kitchen."

* * *

"And if you need anything, Andrew's room is the one at the end of the hall and mine is the one on the left." Hattie smiled. "Breakfast is whenever you want to eat, I have to leave for a little while tomorrow, but Andrew will be here when I am gone."

"Okay. Thank you." Ziva nodded, closing the door to their room as the older woman walked towards the stairs and down to the bar. Tony flicked the lamp on the bedside table on, the dim yellow glow not quite illuminating the dark corners of the small room.

"Can you believe that it's like, what, half four and already dark outside?" He looked out of the window that he imagined, when it was not raining, would look across the lake at the bottom of the valley. However, with the curtain of water streaming down the glass pane and the dark clouds that blocked out the light, he could distinguish no discernable shapes.

"Mmm…" Ziva nodded slowly before rolling her neck and yawning.

"Tired?"

"It has been a long day."

"You can say that again. Come on, we're meeting the estate agent early tomorrow. Maybe by then it will have stopped raining." He sighed, pulling his t-shirt and toothbrush out of his bag. "Do you want the bathroom first, or can I…?"

"You may change first."

"I won't be long." He flashed a tired grin and stepped into the tiny bathroom, leaving Ziva to sit on the end of the bed. She rubbed her forehead and pulled her pyjamas out of her bag, hesitating and tugging the floral curtains across the window before quickly stripping and changing into her sleepwear. She was dragging a brush through her hair when Tony remerged from the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and clothes folded over his arm. "All yours." He mumbled around the brush, dribbling blue froth down his chin. Ziva chuckled, walking over and swiping it away with her thumb, only noticing their proximity when he tilted his head down, his nose bumping her forehead. She had never meant to step so close to him. She bowed her head and stepped back, moving around him in order to get to the bathroom.

Tony ran a hand through his hair as he continued to brush his teeth, walking over to the bed and sitting down on the side he had chucked his duffle onto. Despite the fact it was only mid-evening, and still half eleven in the morning back in DC, he was shattered, ready to curl up and sleep. His sleep pattern had been so confused since they left Ziva in Israel, alternating between spending nights dreaming about her and spending nights in bars trying to forget about her. And then he spent days and nights searching for her. When the Damocles sank, the nightmares started. He would hear her screams, see her face sinking through depths of inky blue water, blurring into oblivion. After they brought her back, it was the choking dry sand he dreamt of, screams echoing through a concrete bunker and her limp body, beaten and bruised, strapped to a chair in front of him. Sometimes the hood would be removed and she would be dead, other times the hood would be removed and she would be lifeless. Neither time was pretty, but part of him hated the empty gaze more because it showed how much they had broken her.

"Ready?" Ziva asked from behind him, her hair braided back.

"Yeah." He sighed. He was not really ready, but he never was anymore when it came to sleeping. No matter how tired he was, sleeping meant dreaming of her. He watched as she slipped under the thick covers, surprised that, even though it was June, they still needed winter duvets to ward the chill of the room off. He joined her, cringing as the bed springs creaked horrifically, and settled on his back, staring up at the ceiling as she flipped off the dim lamp.

"You are like him, you know."

He frowned in the dark, tilting his face towards her, knowing that she could not see him. "Who?"

"Robin Hood."

His heart warmed at that and a smile touched the corners of his lips. "Goodnight, Ziva."

 **…**

 **Guess what I was watching when writing this? If your guess is Prince of Thieves, then you are correct. If not then I suggest you go back and reread the chapter.**


	7. A Well Respected Man

**I have just given a rundown of where I am with the things that I am writing at the moment in my profile, so for any queries as to what is going to be finished and when, go check there first, please.**

 **Okay, also, I have a whole load of mostly-unfinished episode tags, mostly under 400 words, that I was wondering whether I should post. I feel like I will never actually get around to finishing them, or that I do not know how to finish them, so I was just wondering what you all thought. To post, or not to post, that is the question.**

 **I think I have messed my numbers and dates and ages up in this somewhere, but I cannot quite figure out where.**

 **Not sure I like how this chapter turned out.**

 **…**

7\. A Well Respected Man ~ The Kinks

In his still sleep hazy mind, the absence of a body curled into his did not bother him, but as he blinked slowly, staring at the fresh indent in the white pillow, and inhaled deeply, breathing in the lingering scent of jasmine and patchouli, a heavy, unnerving feeling settled in his chest. He sat up, stretching as he took in his surroundings, the room he and Ziva had stayed in. It was lighter this morning, the curtains having been pulled open, allowing grey light to seep into the corners that had been dark and in shadow the night before. Two of the walls were sloping, meeting at the apex of the wall with the window. On the wall opposite, closer to the side of the bed his companion had slept, the door to the bathroom was wide open, whilst the door to the bedroom was closed, he presumed locked as they had left it last night.

There was no sign of his partner and his stomach churned. They were staying one room down from a suspected serial killer and she had gone missing at the crack of dawn. He checked his watch on the bedside cabinet, taking a moment before his brain registered the time: 0630hrs.

He rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed, looking through out of the window. From the angle, he could see the path they had taken down to the inn yesterday afternoon as well as the lake below. Puddles filled the cracked path and the grass looked muddy, clear signs of the rains the day before. He grumbled, walking over to his bag and pulling out a turtleneck and jeans. If it was going to be as cold and miserable as yesterday, he was not going to be happy.

He was about to turn the shower on when his nervous concern for Ziva grew too much, so he tugged his clothes on and grabbed the metal key from the dresser, unlocking the door and relocking it again as he left. The inn felt completely still and each creak of the wooden floor as he made his way along the hallway and down the narrow staircase made him jump.

"Morning, Mr Ward," Tony must have leapt at least a foot in the air as he rounded the corner into the bar that seemed to be the main room downstairs. The three tables were laid for breakfast, all empty, whilst Hattie stood behind the bar drying glasses.

"Hi."

"Your girl's gone for a run 'round the lake. Pretty little thing."

"Yeah," He nodded slowly. "Did she say when she'd be back?"

The older woman shrugged. "Any time 'round now," she leant to the side and peered out of the window across the room, "matter 'fact, I think that might be her now."

The heavy wooden door was pushed open a moment later and Ziva slipped through, allowing it to thump shut again. She smiled over at Hattie before noticing Tony. "Hey. I was worried."

"Well, you should not have been. I am fine."

"You could have left a note," he was not truly angry, just upset that she had made him worry unnecessarily.

"Sorry, I…" she shrugged. "It slipped my mind," she had been in such a rush to get out of there after waking in his arms that she had barely even paid attention to the fact that she had not taken the room key with her. She gave him a tight smile as she hovered by the door.

He shook his head, "it's okay. You never normally do. Just, waking up in a different place without you where you were supposed to be, it threw me. How was it?"

"We need more places like this at home. I am out of practice."

It was only then that he noticed that her chest was beginning to slow down from its rapid rise and fall and that there were a few beads of sweat on her brow. He knew Ziva, and he knew how good she was at running, or at least how good she had been. She used to be able to outrun him without even breaking a sweat, but judging by how she appeared now, he wondered whether the summer had had more of an effect on her physical health than she let on. He narrowed his eyes slightly. "How far did you go?"

"I would say around four miles. I went around the lake, along a track on the other side, and then back around the lake a second time."

"You never used to have a problem with anything under five miles."

"Eight, actually," she looked away, "to be honest, ten was not that bad most mornings – weather permitting. It is the surface here – it is uneven and uphill half the time." He was not convinced, but shrugged, reaching out as she moved past him and snagging her waist. "What are you doing? I need a shower."

"Don't care," he murmured, dropping a quick kiss on her lips before kissing his way up her jawline to her ear. "She was looking suspicious."

"Mhmm," she chuckled, as if he had whispered some funny, private joke in her ear. "I need to shower, then we can have breakfast?"

"Okay. What time's the estate agent going to be here?"

"Half eight I think she said."

"Okay, Love."

* * *

"Hi, you must be Liam and Leila. Yvonne Flemming from the estate agents," she stuck her hand out to Ziva with a warm smile. Her raven hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, the tips reaching halfway down her back, and her pale skin contrasted with the bold red lips. A thick white belt defined the black pencil dress and Tony could hardly help his eyes from raking over the smooth curves.

"Hi there," Tony was not even going to try to argue that the elbow he received to the gut was unwarranted.

"Excuse my fiancé. Shall we get started?" Ziva's tone was curt and her words clipped as they stood outside the inn. There was a mutual agreement and they headed up the path, stepping around the puddles that obstructed their way.

Tony merely smirked, snaking his arm around Ziva's waist and bringing his lips close to her ear. "Jealous, Zee-vah?"

She pushed his face away, wrinkling her nose. "No, because I have not made it my life goal to be leered at by creepy older men."

"I'm not that much older than you."

"Around ten years," she shrugged, "besides, I was actually talking about her – she looks about sixteen."

"24, actually, though what my age has to do with anything I do not know," Yvonne smiled tensely at Ziva as they all climbed into her black car.

"Wow, 24. You're young to be a police officer."

"Detective Constable, actually. And I just knew what I want and knew what I needed to do to get there."

"Well, Detective Constable, I think it's amazing that you have done gotten so far so quickly…" Ziva rolled her eyes as he continued to flatter their undercover contact. She was not jealous, no, she just thought Tony should keep his head in the game and not go off chasing girls, particularly when he was supposed to be pretending to be _her_ fiancé.

* * *

"Agent David, have I done something wrong?" They were waiting in the reception of the police station whilst Tony went to the bathroom and the silence between the two females had been palpable.

"No, I just think that we are on a dangerous mission and Tony needs to keep focused. You distracting him is not going to help matters."

The younger woman scoffed. "Distracting him? In what way was I distracting him?"

"Leading him on. Look, just…do not flirt with him so much? You could try dressing slightly more conservatively around him, maybe?"

"I wasn't flirting, I was conversing, like a normal person. And I'll wear what I like."

Ziva pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, I have been doing this for a lot longer than you have, and I really advise that you tone down what you are wearing. It will not look good to the outside world if it is seen that my fiancé is more attracted to you than to me whilst we are looking for a house."

"Doing what? Trying to get Agent DiNozzo or working undercover?"

"I am not 'trying to get' Agent DiNozzo!" Ziva grit her teeth, blushing deep scarlet as the reception fell silent and every single officer, detective and civilian stared at her. Tony cleared his throat from where he stood behind her and she whirled around. "Tony, I…"

"You okay?" His face was unreadable as he studied her for a moment - her head bowed, her cheeks red and her hands clasped in front of her - before looking around the station. "Okay, nothing to see here people, just an American and an Almost-American learning that England is a lot quieter than we're used to."

* * *

She was surrounding him; back mere millimetres from his torso and fingers brushing as they leant against the desk. And if that was not bad enough, her wild mane of curls was tickling his nose with every breath he took, inhaling the sweet scent of the jasmine and patchouli that had been on the bed sheets when he had woken, and suddenly his focus on the case was gone completely and the only think he could think was: 'Jesus, Ziva, you smell good.'

Four pairs of eyes swivelled to stare at him and he turned bright red as he realised he had said it out loud, and not quietly. He grinned nervously and scratched his head, wondering if the Brits were going to put him on their list of creeps to look out for.

"Anyway…" The detective inspector overseeing the case turned back to Yvonne's computer whilst the constable on the desk across looked back to his work. Yvonne coughed as Ziva covered her face.

"Um…the driver that took us to the village mentioned that there were stories of murders dating back since he was a child, is there any evidence backing the stories up?"

The constable and inspector looked between one another for a long moment before turning back to the two Americans. "Every village has its ghost stories. And every village has a murder or two scattered through its history," the inspector shuffled uncomfortably on his feet.

Ziva narrowed her eyes. "So there are grounds for the stories?"

"Well…"

"Either there are or there aren't."

"There were a string of murders in the late-sixties and early-seventies. Throats slit with a straight razor. There were also a couple of disappearances when the case started to progress. We started to crack down and our killer went underground."

"So you never made any arrests?" Ziva looked at him sceptically, rolling her eyes when they fidgeted. "Did you have any suspects?"

"One. But according to the file, he left town as soon as we started investigating him. Completely dropped off the map. Nobody has heard of him since," Yvonne hit a button, bringing up an old photo that had, somewhere along the way, been digitalised.

"Anything tying him to Andrew?"

"No."

"Andrew could be a copycat?" Tony suggested.

"Then why add the strangling? It would fit the profile more that he is being tutored by the original killer," Yvonne shrugged. "I don't know how much further we're going to get with this today. It's getting late. I'll give you both a lift back?"

"Yeah, thanks," Tony nodded, grinning at the young detective. Ziva rolled her eyes at how enthusiastic he was at getting a lift back to the inn from Yvonne.

"Well, I think I am going to need a glass of water before we go. It is a long drive and I am getting a headache."

"You okay?" Her partner frowned, concern lining his features.

"Just dehydrated," she shrugged as she followed the detective inspector to the water dispenser across the office.

"Is there…you and Agent David, is there anything there, between you?"

"What?!" Tony stared at Yvonne, eyes wide.

"I just- you two seem close, and she seems a little possessive. And earlier today, with sniffing her hair…?"

"There is nothing between myself and Agent David. We are…colleagues. Friends, even. But nothing more than that," it was not an out and out lie, not really a manipulation of the truth at all – there was nothing between them – but that did not stop the guilt he felt about lying, "why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering, you know. Just making sure I wouldn't be getting in the way of anything."

Tony laughed, "who says anything is going to happen?"

"Nobody. I was just wondering if you want to go for a drink after this whole thing's over with."

"Well…" he blew air through his lips. "I mean…I don't see why not. It will probably depend on how much time we get to stay here after we wrap the case up, but yeah, that would be good."

"Great. Well, I'll be here," there was a slight smugness to her smile as she looked him up and down.

 **…**

 **That last line has been bothering me since I wrote it, but I have not been able to fix it and see any other way of finishing it. The whole thing has been bothering me, really.**

 **I was actually going to post this hours ago, I do not know what happened…**


End file.
